Transcribed from recordings by James F., reporter for Ghost Hunter Magazine

JF: Um, testing, one-two-three. Okay. Um, hello? Is anyone here?

John: Hey, dude. What’s shaking? Oh, you are! (laughter)

JF: Um, yeah. You gave me kind of a shock, appearing like that out of nowhere.

John: First interview with a ghost, huh?

JF: Yes. You’re the first actual ghost anyone’s interviewed, I think.

John: So, let’s get started then.

JF: Right. So, it’s just after dark and we’re here in a cemetery in the town of Oakwood, New York…

John: Not just a cemetery, man. My cemetery. This is where I’m buried.

JF: Okay. And we’re speaking with the ghost of John…um, what’s your last name?

John: Let’s just stick with John. Get to the questions, man. You can add the other shit later.

JF: Right. (fumbling with papers) Okay. First question. When did you die?

John: 1978. My parents killed me and buried my body here.

JF: You’re parents killed you? Why?

John: The usual crap. I was into some heavy stuff. Worshipping the devil, sacrificing animals. Nothing a lot of other fifteen-year-old boys don’t do, but it put a bug up my parents’ butt.

JF: I see. Um, what’s the worst thing about being a ghost?

John: Ask some of my buddies, and they’d say not being able to do stuff during the day. Or not being able to sleep. But for me, it’s probably being stuck in the same clothes forever. I mean, look at this shirt. Ted Nugent. Sure, he was cool and all, but it wasn’t like I didn’t listen to any other music. I love Rainbow, Blue Oyster Cult, Led Zep, Cream, Deep Purple…heavy metal man, it rules! But when you can’t change your clothes, it’s like being stuck in a Beavis and Butthead cartoon, wearing the same old thing all the time.

JF: You know about Beavis and Butthead?

John: We know all about pop culture, man. What do you think we do all day, sit around waiting to scare people? We can go all over, and people can’t see us. We sit in living rooms and bedrooms, listening to music and watching TV. Ghosts are like the ultimate coach potatoes.

JF: So being invisible in the daylight is something you enjoy.

John: Hell, yeah! Didn’t you ever wish you could peek into a window or into the girls’ locker room? Well, we don’t have to peek. We can just stand right next to someone, and they’ll never know.

JF: So, you’re like peeping Toms. Or stalkers.

John: Hey, I don’t think I like your tone, man. We’re ghosts. We don’t have to follow your rules.

JF: I’m sorry, I—

John: In fact, I think we’ll break one right now. Hey, boys!

(angry shouts in the background, followed by someone yelling “Hold him down!”)

JF: Help! Stop! I didn’t mean—

(A terrible scream)

(Silence)

John: That’s all, folks. Maybe we’ll see you soon.

(More laughter)

***
Editor’s Note: Reporter James F. went missing during his assignment in Oakwood.

Clay Daniels is an outcast among outcasts. Cursed with a terrible birthmark on his face, his life is an endless misery of teasing and physical abuse from his classmates. Things only get worse when his parents die and he’s forced to move in with cruel relatives who make the torture of school seem like paradise.

Then everything changes when he meets a boy named John in the woods behind his house. John and his friends don’t care what Clay looks like, or that he’s not strong or particularly smart. That’s because they’re dead, and the dead don’t discriminate. Their acceptance of him helps Clay overcome his initial fear, and soon he’s doing all the cool things he always dreamed of—sneaking out of the house, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and hanging out in a hidden cemetery.

For the first time in his life he knows the joy of having friends. Friends who treat him as an equal. Friends who have his back when trouble comes along, and even stick up for him against his violent cousin. But John and the others harbor dangerous secrets.

The secrets of the Cold Spot.

About JG Faherty

JG Faherty has had a varied background that includes working as a laboratory manager, accident scene photographer, zoo keeper, research scientist, and resume writer. Growing up in the haunted Hudson Valley region of New York, some of his favorite playgrounds were abandoned houses and Revolutionary War cemeteries. His hobbies include urban exploring, photography, exotic animal rehabilitation, and playing the guitar. Contrary to popular belief, he is not addicted to Facebook or tacos.

The town’s original name was Rocky Pointe. Before that, the Native Americans called it the Haunted Woods.

It was established in 1779 and known to the local Native Americans as the place where the “Bloody Man” ruled.

During the Revolutionary War, Washington’s troops frequently reported seeing ‘haunts’ in the forests.

In the 1800s, there was a series of unsolved murders and rumours of werewolves roaming the woods.

Rumours of practicing witches began in the 1800s and continue up to the present day, although without proof.

In 1899, there was a tragic ammunitions depot explosion on Beerman’s Island, located in the Hudson River at the north end of the town limits. According to Native American legend, the island was home to goblins.

In 1906, there was a huge fire and landslide at the town’s brickyard, followed by a string of unsolved murders.

In the 1960s, more than 100 people disappeared on Halloween night while attending a carnival.

A few years ago, the local Town Code Officer was arrested for murdering more than a dozen people.

Rocky Point has the most unsolved murders and missing person cases of any city in New York State.

About JG Faherty

JG Faherty has had a varied background that includes working as a laboratory manager, accident scene photographer, zoo keeper, research scientist, and resume writer. Growing up in the haunted Hudson Valley region of New York, some of his favorite playgrounds were abandoned houses and Revolutionary War cemeteries. His hobbies include urban exploring, photography, exotic animal rehabilitation, and playing the guitar. Contrary to popular belief, he is not addicted to Facebook or tacos.

Join JG Faherty, author of the horror novel Cemetery Club as he virtually tours the blogosphere in 2012 on his first tour with Pump Up Your Book!

About JG Faherty

JG Faherty has had a varied background that includes working as a laboratory manager, accident scene photographer, zoo keeper, research scientist, and resume writer. Growing up in the haunted Hudson Valley region of New York, some of his favorite playgrounds were abandoned houses and Revolutionary War cemeteries. His hobbies include urban exploring, photography, exotic animal rehabilitation, and playing the guitar. Contrary to popular belief, he is not addicted to Facebook or tacos.

About Cemetery Club

20 years ago four friends awoke an ancient evil. Now only the Cemetery Club can stop it before the whole town ends up dead. Or worse.

Rocky Point is a small town with a violent history – mass graves, illegal medical experiments and brutal murders dating back centuries. Of course, when Cory, Marisol, John and Todd form the Cemetery Club, they know none of this. They’ve found the coolest place to party after school – an old crypt. But then things start to go bad. People get killed and the Cemetery Club knows the cause: malevolent creatures that turn people into zombies. When no one believes them, they descend into the infested tunnels below the town and somehow manage to stop the cannibalistic deaths.

Now, twenty years later, the horror is beginning again. The Cemetery Club must reunite to defeat the menace once and for all. The problem is they can’t remember how they did it the first time.

It’s a race against time to find the true source of evil infesting Rocky Point, as the Cemetery Club ventures into the cryptic maze, to face their demons in a final showdown.

What Reviewers Are Saying

“Faherty’s latest effort is spell binding terror with a paranormal slant with tons of twists and turns.”

“JG Faherty seizes his readers by the throat and drags them straight towards the grave with The Cemetery Club., a nail biter in the tradition of the best scare-’em-ups from the 80s. Faherty’s strong characterizations and gripping suspense will leave readers hungry for more.”

– Gregory Lamberson, author of Cosmic Forces and The Frenzy Way

“JG Faherty nails the whole small town horror concept with a King-like flair. I definitely identified with the main characters, both past and present. All in all, I thought it was excellent.”

“I’ve known JG Faherty since he was an up-and-comer. Now he’s arrived. Start reading him now – as in TODAY – so you won’t have to play catch-up later.”

– F. Paul Wilson, author of the bestselling Repairman Jack series.

“CEMETERY CLUB is like a plastic pumpkin bucket filled to the top with all of your favorite candies. Loads of gory fun!”

-Jeff Strand, author of PRESSURE and DWELLER.

“With plenty of new twists on some old favorites, Faherty’s latest novel provides readers with as much fun in a graveyard as the law will allow. Ancient legends, demonic shadow-creatures and ravenous zombies–what more could you ask for?”

“Why did Chris pick you to be our cave guide,” I asked, my mouth as dry as chalk.

Monroe Huff looked at me, an odd smile spreading across his Neanderthal face. “Do you know what I like about caves, Pablo Perez?”

Sucking in an anxious breath, I said, “You’re avoiding the question.”

“One reason. I’m the best spelunker in Missouri. Period.”

Monroe had to be the scariest looking human being on planet Earth. Built like modern man’s prehistoric relative, short and squatty, his thick brow sloped and his massive jaw jutted. His stomach was flat, his hips were narrow, and his muscular shoulders looked like an Olympic weightlifter’s. If Christopher Cloud had meant to intimidate me by introducing me to Monroe…well, he’d succeeded.

“It’s not the silence, although silence is divine,” Monroe began. “Not a word, nor a

whisper, only the melody of dripping water, the ghostly gurgle and splash of a rippling

stream, the quiet roar of a waterfall, and the distant cry of bats in the dark.”

A rush of wind blew over Monroe’s cabin, moaning, and an icy chill arched up my spine.

“Nor is it the darkness that I cherish, for heaven knows I do worship those places totally absent of light,” Monroe continued. “The complete blackness is my blessing. It renews my world. I am in the belly of Mother Cave waiting once again to be reborn, without light and helpless.”

Monroe was one scary dude. Pia and Kiki would freak out when they met him.

“Nor is it the coolness that draws me again and again to the bowels of creation,” Monroe said. “For I am a man who loathes heat. The cool air of the cave is my sanctuary.” Eyes closed, he inhaled a mighty breath through his wide, flat nose. “No, it’s none of these things that bring me back to my caves.” A soft, guttural laugh rolled out of his mouth and his eyes popped open with a frightful suddenness. “It’s the smell.”

“The smell?” I asked, trying to put some muscle in my voice.

“Yes, the smell,” Monroe said, opening his nostrils and sucking in another big breath. “The odour of Mother Cave is magnificent. Wet earth mixed with dry dust. The ammonia smell of bat urine. The stink of guano. The decaying bodies of spiders and beetles and cave rats. Tiny carcasses radiating that wonderful smell of death.”

“Chris has carried me around in his head for years,” Monroe said. “It’s only natural that he would breathe life into me first.”

“It’s still not fair.”

“Literature is fickle, Pablo. You’ll learn that as you get older.”

***

About A Boy Called Duct Tape

Pablo Perez is a 12-year-old poor kid without much going for him. His classmates have dubbed him “Duct Tape” because his tattered discount-store sneakers are held together with…you guessed it, duct tape. He can’t escape the bullying.

Pablo’s luck, however, changes after he finds a $20 gold coin while swimming in a river near his home. Pablo later buys a $1 treasure map at the county fair. The map shows the route to the “lost treasure” of Jesse James. Pablo can’t help but wonder: Is there a link between the map and the gold coin? He is determined to find out, and he, his 9-year-old sister and 13-year-old cousin hire an ill-natured cave guide, and begin a treacherous underground adventure in search of treasure.

Christopher Cloud admits he came to literature late in life. “I was in my 60s before I developed a real interest in writing fiction,” he said. A Boy Called Duct Tape is Cloud’s debut middle-grade novel. It is a first-person account of three Latino children searching for the “lost treasure” of Jesse James.

Cloud began writing children’s fiction after a long career in journalism and public relations. He graduated from the University of Missouri in 1967 with a degree in journalism. He has worked as a reporter, editor, and columnist for newspapers in Texas, California, and Missouri. His work has appeared in many national publications, including TimeMagazine.

He was employed by Sun Oil Company, Philadelphia, as a public relations executive, and later operated his own PR agency. He created the board game Sixth Sense in 2002. The game sold at independent bookstores nationwide.

Cloud said his next project is a young-adult novel. “I have written the first draft of a story I’m calling 16 And In Love,” Cloud said. “This story—like A Boy Called Duct Tape—is multicultural.”

Join Christopher Cloud, author of the young adult novel, A Boy Called Duct Tape, as he virtually tours the blogosphere in April, 2012, on his first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book.

About Christopher Cloud

Christopher Cloud admits he came to literature late in life. “I was in my 60s before I developed a real interest in writing fiction,” he said. A Boy Called Duct Tape is Cloud’s debut middle-grade novel. It is a first-person account of three Latino children searching for the “lost treasure” of Jesse James.

Cloud began writing children’s fiction after a long career in journalism and public relations. He graduated from the University of Missouri in 1967 with a degree in journalism. He has worked as a reporter, editor, and columnist for newspapers in Texas, California, and Missouri. His work has appeared in many national publications, including TimeMagazine.

Employed by Sun Oil Company, Philadelphia, as public relations executive and later he operated his own PR agency. He created the board game Sixth Sense in 2002 and the game sold at independent bookstores nationwide.

Cloud said his next project is a young-adult novel. “I have written the first draft of a story I’m calling 16 And In Love,” Cloud said. “This story—like A Boy Called Duct Tape—is multicultural.”

Cloud lives in Joplin, Missouri.

A Boy Called Duct Tape Virtual Book Tour

About A Boy Called Duct Tape

Pablo Perez is a 12-year-old poor kid without much going for him. His classmates have dubbed him “Duct Tape” because his tattered discount-store sneakers are held together with…you guessed it, duct tape. He can’t escape the bullying.

Pablo’s luck, however, changes after he finds a $20 gold coin while swimming in a river near his home. Pablo later buys a $1 treasure map at the county fair. The map shows the route to the “lost treasure” of Jesse James. Pablo can’t help but wonder: Is there a link between the map and the gold coin? He is determined to find out, and he, his 9-year-old sister and 13-year-old cousin hire an ill-natured cave guide, and begin a treacherous underground adventure in search of treasure.

A Boy Called Duct Tape Virtual Book Tour Schedule Coming Soon

Christopher Cloud will be on book tour April 2 – 27, 2012. Contact Rebecca at Rebecca.camarena@yahoo.com is you would like to host this author.

“Can we trust her?” Jaguar asked Alex, not much caring that I was listening. I was there to interview them, and Jaguar didn’t seemed thrilled about it.

“Yes,” Alex said mildly.

Jaguar, seated next to him on the couch in her living room, narrowed her sea green eyes. “Shaking your web, Spider Magus?”

He smiled. She only called him that when she suspected he was using his precognitive skills. They both had more than their share of psi capacities. “What do you think?”

“I think she’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer.”

He shrugged. “You can always kill her.” His tone was teasing, but I’ll admit I kept my eye on the exit.

“Ha,” I said. “That’s, um, funny. Should we begin?”

Alex gestured, inviting me to go ahead.

“I hear you two are involved in a whole new way,” I said. “Is it true?”

“That’s our business,” Jaguar growled. Her red glass knife peaked out from the sleeve of her silk shirt. She stretched her long legs and crossed them at the ankle, her stiletto-heeled boots looking as dangerous as her knife.

Jaguar touched his shoulder briefly. It didn’t take an empath to feel the tingle passing between them.

“You look after her safety,” I noted.

“He likes to imagine I need it,” Jaguar cut in. Then she grinned. “Once he was even crazy enough to throw himself at a Telekine who wanted to kill us both.”

“That,” Alex said. “I knew you had my back.”

“So I protected you instead,” she said.

“As it turns out, you did,” he agreed.

“Then I’ll admit you had my back with Dr. Senci.”

Again, that sizzle between them. If this kept up, I’d have to open a window. “Who’s Dr. Senci?” I asked.

“A recent case,” Alex shuddered. “A rough one.”

“How come?” I asked.

“You know what a Greenkeeper is?” Jaguar asked.

I shook my head.

“A maxxed out vampire, who eats anything that gets in his way. We got in the way.”

“Say more,” I requested.

Jaguar mulled. “Tell you what. If you’re free this solstice, meet us at 13 Streams. I’ll tell the story at the sun ceremony.”

13 Streams. A small Native American village in New Mexico, run by Jake and One Bird, Jaguar’s empathic mentors. A place I’d love to visit.

“I’ll be there,” I said. “You’ll tell it all?”

She nodded. “And you’ll see what kind of man Alex really is.”

She looked to him, holding his gaze. The room grew appreciably warmer.

I stood. “Right,” I said. “Send me details. I’ll see you there.”

They said goodbye, sort of. But they never stopped looking at each other. When I closed the door behind me I fanned myself with my hand, and went in search of air.

***

Barbara Chepaitis is author of eight published novels and two nonfiction books. Her most recent novel is The Green Memory of Fear, fifth book in the ‘fear’ series featuring Jaguar Addams. She is also director of the fiction writing program at Western College of Colorado’s Master’s program in creative writing.

Join B.A. Chepaitis, author of The Green Memory of Fear as she virtually tours the blogosphere in 2012 on her third tour with Pump Up Your Book!

About B.A. Chepaitis

BARBARA CHEPAITIS is author of 8 published novels, including the critically acclaimed Feeding Christine and These Dreams, as well as the sci-fi series featuring Jaguar Addams. The fourth novel in that series, A Lunatic Fear was a nominee for a Romantic Times Bookclub award.

Her scripts have placed semifinalist with Niccholl’s Fellowship and finalist with Sundance Screenwriter’s award.

She is founder and director of the storytelling trio The Snickering Witches, host of WAMC Writer’s Forum, a Teaching Artist with the Lincoln Center-based Aesthetic education program, and concentration direction in fiction at Western State College of Colorado’s graduate program in creative writing.

About The Green Memory of Fear

On Prison Planetoid Three, Jaguar Addams uses her empathic gifts to make criminals face the fears that drive their heinous acts. Very few escape the telepathic web she weaves around them. . . . until now.

When Jaguar takes on an assignment investigating a psychiatrist on trial for abuse of a little boy, she finds a killer unlike any she’s faced before. Dr. Senci’s psi skills are a match for her own, and unless she consents to do as he wants, he’ll use them to kill everyone she loves.

Once she realizes who and what he really is, she leaves the Planetoid to go after him. But Supervisor Alex Dzarny isn’t about to let her go it alone, even if it means losing his own life to save hers.

About Jaime McDougall

Jaime McDougall is a citizen of the world, currently loving life in beautiful country Victoria in Australia. She loves eating sushi, kidnapping her husband and naming her pets in honour of science fiction authors.

About Echo Falls

Running from a nightmare stalking her every move, Phoebe Martin arrives in Echo Falls hoping she has finally found a safe place to stop. But trouble has a way of catching up and soon the signs are there.

After a vicious attack in an alley, policeman Aidan O’Bryan is left with Phoebe as his only path to understanding why the Echo Falls werewolf pack – his pack – is being attacked. When another pack member is killed, Phoebe is forced to confront her past before she loses Aidan and everything she has come to love.

Love and duty become one as Aidan strives to prevent Phoebe from becoming the next victim. But with Phoebe just as determined to protect Aidan and her new home, secrets from her past threaten to tear them apart.

Will love give Phoebe the strength to trust Aidan and face her fears, or will her past destroy her future?

Tears ran down her cheeks and her lungs burned for air. Only the random irrational thought broke through the panic keeping her feet moving down the steps. Keep running. Keep running. The light of the emergency exit came into view. Almost there…

The door to the stairwell slammed open with a hollow boom. She tripped and clung to the railing to steady herself.

Keep running.

The shock of the cool night air sent a shiver of relief through her body. She’d come out a side exit into an alley. If she could just get to the front –

Suddenly she was thrown to the ground from behind. She hit the concrete, what little breath she had knocked from her lungs. Blood began flowing from where her head hit the ground, and small sparks of light floated into her vision.

How did he catch up so fast?

Desperately she tried to gulp down as much air as she could, willing her lungs to cooperate. Instinct kicked in as the attacker slashed at her, and she curled into fetal position.

A dog. He’d turned into a dog. A big dog with vicious claws and teeth he used to tear into her exposed back, thigh and shoulder. She slowly regained her breath but could only use it to scream her throat raw.

Her vision faded, taking the small sparks of light with it. Searing pain ripped through her shoulder as a claw dug down against her bone. One last, long scream tore from her lungs before she was left gasping and sobbing, her fear slowly smoldering into rage.

Things can’t end like this.

She opened her eyes as the dog stood over her, trying to get to her throat. A paw came into her line of vision and she saw her chance. She reached out, grabbed it and squeezed with all the strength she had.

The dog yelped and tried to twist away, but she held on with all the strength she had. She knew she’d only bought herself time. She couldn’t move the dog off her and she couldn’t squeeze his paw all night. He tried uselessly to bite her, his jaws having no strength so long as she squeezed his paw. But she could already feel her strength waning.

Suddenly the weight of the dog flew off her, taking the paw out of her grip. Without thinking, she used her one cooperating arm to drag herself toward the front of the building.

She shivered, her arm giving out, and caught a glimpse of a second dog. No. A wolf… Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she listened to the dogs fighting, the battle just a few steps away. She tried her best to curl up against the building wall and willed the growling and snapping to go away. They sounded like they were tearing each other to pieces.

The universe granted her wish, the battle ending with the sound of two bodies hitting each other and a sharp whine. She shivered and softly whined as well, dreading the approach of the winner as one of the dogs yelped and ran away.

A few moments later warm, human hand brushed the back of her head and she screamed again. If it could be called a scream. Her throat burned and rebelled at her abuse of it.

“Ssh. You’re safe now.”

She tried to scream again and move away, but her body wouldn’t obey her commands. She groaned as the full force of the pain washed over her.

He murmured and she relaxed her desperate grip on staying conscious. Sleep seemed so tempting, the black abyss singing a siren’s song to her. Her rescuer – or captor – tried to soothe her, but something dark and dangerous in his voice betrayed him. He was different. She tried to bat away his hands but gave up after a few attempts, not sure if her good hand was actually moving.

As she slipped into the darkness, she wondered if death had merely granted her a short reprieve from the inevitable.